waves and breathing

They start without warning and can be incredibly debilitating, at least mentally.  They feel unpredictable, coming on during times of joy, times of quiet, times of busy...grief waves.

For me, I can feel the pressure starting in my stomach and a deep internal sadness in my heart- my mind feels like I had subconsciously whispered 'what just happened', thinking it was simply a single thought, contained in just that second. Instead, those words swirl in echos around my brain, touching every hemisphere, bouncing back and forth to each other- like a ball being tossed just above my hands, unreachable no matter how high I jump. I have found that if I don't stop and internally pray, even if it's just a one word prayer 'Jesus!' and give the grief acknowledgement (whatever that needs to look like in the moment), it will continue to grow until I am anxious and/or emotionally distant (even from myself).  I have also found that reaching out to Matt or my close friends and being authentic about the grief, even if it's just, 'I'm having a grief moment (or day)' helps so much too.  I especially appreciate when those close to me don't try to 'fix' my grief but instead are just a soft and often quiet place to let me sit with them (even on the phone), in my grief, for a bit. I know that the wave of grief won't stay, like waves in the ocean, grief waves also ebb and flow, but even in that, as healthy as it is to acknowledge and give grief the space it needs to process, it's incredibly humbling and hard.  

Switching gears but still relating to grief:

I didn't have the wear-with-all to ask the question on a breast cancer page I follow on Facebook...'Does anyone else find they are having to teach themselves to breathe again?' I didn't want to be misunderstood and hear the mass advise about how to 'learn to breath again' after trauma.  It would just simply be a question that desired relatability, not advise....'it takes time' or 'this was something I experienced (or experience currently) too', was what I imagined would feel the most comforting to hear.  I will purposely tell myself several times a day, 'Steph, take a deep breath in, now do it again'...I have often wondered if it's because I am waiting for the next hard time, bracing myself for whatever unknown crisis is possibly around the corner.  It's in these times I have to dig deep into the truth I know, 'Fear not; for I am with you: be not dismayed; for I am your God; I will strengthen you; yes, I will help you; yes, I will uphold you with the right hand of My righteousness.' Isaiah 41:10.  As I take the deep breaths, I am reminded that there is One watching over us who is the only strength we need.  He has the past, present, and whatever is to come under His control and will always be our help. It's still hard though, to learn to breath again.  

Grief is so many layers of complex- trauma adds a complicated dynamic to the layers.  Complex and complicated that opens the door to a deeper understanding of how our hearts were created to have Jesus intricately weaved into every fiber of our beings.  You already know this, I deeply love Jesus and I'm also deeply human- navigating 'real' life with Jesus is surprisingly freeing while being completely intimidating.  It is so much less polished and much more gritty than what I would have thought.  It's less judgement of others failures while being much more aware of the boundaries I need with others.  I could go on but, I'll save that for another post.

The picture on the top left was taken in November 2022- I was at the tail end of Chemotherapy.  The picture on the bottom right was taken last month (April 2024).  
 

I Can Only Imagine

I have a revolving 'mix' on YouTube of music- generally speaking, it always plays the same songs.  Sometimes though, it throws additional songs in of the same genre.  Today, as an additional song came on, it was one I had heard many times before, Mercy Me I Can Only Imagine.  In the past, I have let the lyrics absorb and my imagination try to 'imagine' what seeing Jesus will be like- being surrounded by His glory what will my heart will feel.  As the song describes possibilities, dancing, awe, singing, falling to our knees- all of those I have imagined doing...as those thoughts would come, a warm thankfulness would fill my heart and sometimes tears come to my eyes- like I had just smelled the most amazing flower or been told heart filling wonderful news, almost magical.  

I haven't heard the song much the last couple of years, at least not that I can remember, so today, when it came on, I let my imagination 'imagine' and for the first time, could resonate best with the very last verse in the chorus...'will I be able to speak at all.'  No, I don't think I'll be able to.  I don't mean this as some awe struck Christian who giggled and cartwheeled my way to Heaven's gates only to see Jesus and respond like a speechless fan who is seeing their favorite movie star up close and personal. For me, a more accurate meaning would be an internally battered soul who, by God's grace, in the deepest sense of exhaustion, completed life and it's intense storms and saw for myself that it was all worth it.  Not the living part, but the living for Jesus part.  

Today, if I were to imagine seeing Jesus, I imagine I would be speechless and possibly even cry wracking sobs- again, not out of fan fare fascination but, out of recognizing and fully understanding that I was in a place I could completely unload the burdens earth could never heal, knowing that those burdens could be safely and forever unpacked, never to be picked up again. An eternal healing that leaves all of us who know Jesus safe and whole, complete. Speechless at the work it took to stay the course, speechless at what I saw and experienced along the way (and what I know others have had to and will endure), speechless because the giddy and full of words and actions I thought I would have don't fit anymore.   Speechless because the faith it takes to walk with Jesus and trust His promises, that He will work all things for His glory and our good (even if we don't see the results until Heaven) was true.  And to be quite honest, speechless because on the tattered surface of my mind, it's hard not to be annoyed that there was not some easier way to accomplish His plan other than straight through unyielding rough and earthly emotionally damaging sea's (He sees our heart and knows this already about me). 

No, it won't be about me when I see Jesus, but I do believe it will be a complete understanding of our faith, that we chose to embrace here on earth, being fulfilled in Heaven...on second thought, maybe my speechlessness will be complete awe at how the imperfect all came together perfectly.

Guess I'll just have to wait and see!   

Thank you Jesus for your work on the cross and your sustaining love for us.  

Mercy Me- I Can Only Imagine

I can only imagine
What it will be like
When I walk by Your side
I can only imagine
What my eyes would see
When Your face is before me
I can only imagine
Yeah

Surrounded by Your glory
What will my heart feel?
Will I dance for You Jesus
Or in awe of You be still?
Will I stand in Your presence
Or to my knees, will I fall?
Will I sing hallelujah?
Will I be able to speak at all?
I can only imagine
I can only imagine

I can only imagine
When that day comes
And I find myself
Standing in the Son
I can only imagine
When all I will do
Is forever, forever worship You
I can only imagine, yeah
I can only imagine

4 trauma lessons

In no particular order here are 4 random learning lessons trauma is teaching me so far (I've learned more than 4 but these are the ones that stand out today).

 1. Trauma has produced an awarenesses of unresolved past grief and the need to forgive and internally resolve before I can move forward.

It's interesting how when a life changing traumatic event happens the ripple effect from the event goes both backwards and forward.  The processing of stressful emotions reveal what is unresolved from the past while also setting the framework for processing going forward.  The inadequate emotional tools we have preceding the event are the same ones we have after the life altering event.  Many times, the inadequate tools (that may have worked a fraction of what they should prior) prove completely worthless for what we need to healthily process and heal from the current traumatic event.  Left unattended, the skillset will prove to allow additional heartache and loss to occur on sheer inadequate processing principle.  I have found that a good trauma therapist is very helpful to navigate getting these tools.  My therapist is skilled in EMDR, which I find helpful.  She is also skilled in going back to childhood and emotionally healing forward to make sure complete understanding and a well rounded emotional skillset (proper tools) is gained. 

2. Trauma has shown me that my own and/or others expectations of how I should walk forward or handle the trauma can be very unrealistic and unfair.

It makes my heart sad to even type the next sentence because of the awareness I have now.  I can think of multiple times I have come alongside someone in their trauma and had my own agenda in mind.  I've mentally (even subconsciously) put them on a timeframe for benchmarks they should be accomplishing because that is what seemed healthy (to me) and the "Christian" way they should be doing it.  It was both self serving and arrogant of me and incredibly naive.  Looking at the root of my reason for why I did this, it stemmed from wanting to be back into my comfort zone as quickly as possibly (self serving).  Whether it was an idealistic view of how I thought a Christian should handle trauma or that I was uncomfortable having to embrace empathy and sorrow for where they were at, or multiple other reasons.  Empathy and sorrow for another takes laying aside our own desires or demands and taking up a quiet humility and soft spirit- a dying to self and a picking up the cross of Jesus.

As the crushing blow of trauma came for me, it was the precious ones who could sit with me where I was at (and even to this day where I am at), not personalizing my diagnosis to themselves or trying to push me up to a place where they were willing to meet me, that are the deepest ministry.  I feel like Jesus, in me, has been my deepest comfort with He then using a few others to come along side tangibly.  It is a deep desire of my heart to be one of those few, in others lives.  A sacrifice with no real earthly fanfare but the heavenly reward worth its weight in gold.

3. Trauma has challenged my belief system- the realistic has stayed but the idealistic or unrealistic is quickly being stripped away.

Trauma has challenged me to a deeper faith.  It has stripped me of any sort of health security I knew and replaced it with the reality that at any given time, my cancer can come back.  The daily medications, testing, blood work, bilateral mastectomy, and left axillary lymph node dissection, etc. are a decent protection for as long as the cancer does not mutate or wake up from dormancy but it's not a guarantee. There is the chance all the cancer is gone but only a chance (with the percentage shrinking with each lymph node that was positive).  It would be idealist and unrealistic for me to live my life acting like my struggle is done.  The realistic approach for me is to cling to the guarantee I do have, Jesus.  On my fearful days, I wrap my heart up with Psalm 139, especially vs. 16, "all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be." None of us will live a day longer or shorter than what Jesus has called for us to do.  No disease, diagnosis, or situation will change that- no matter what it is.  The full surrender to this is both deeply comforting and completely heart wrenching- what if the time Jesus has for me is different then the time I would like.  The harsh reality is that we are not spared agonizing times here on earth.  God is always good and life is deeply hard. Do I trust Jesus to the point that I can rest in His sovereignty?  It's a work in progress....  

4. Trauma is teaching me so much about thankfulness

It's deeply hard to admit because I would like to feel like my diagnosis is more in the rear view mirror than what it is but the reality is, I wake up most every day with the same thought, 'I have today- thank you Jesus and please let me make the most of it...and please Jesus, just one more day- and then another- and then another'  I don't take for granted that today is offered. There is not a day that goes by that I don't mentally calculate the gift that the day is- even on the days where my medication is kicking me to the curb and I have no energy or the days where my bones ache more than what I would ever admit (medication and not having estrogen).  It might sound like some sort of gag-me, do-gooder, 'thankful' over achiever but the reality is, while none of us have the promise of tomorrow, not all of us have to stare the reality in the face everyday.  For those of us that do, perspective is incredibly important.  My heart goes out to anyone walking these shoes, even typing the paragraph above brought me to tears.  Life's a tough gig, a tough tough gig, but I'm so thankful for it (and for my Jesus).

 

Breast Cancer Journey This Far...

In early October, I was able to speak to a group of mom's about my breast cancer journey, this far, and what God has walked me through:

those top pigtails

 At the beginning of my breast cancer diagnosis, I journaled often.  I remember thinking that I wanted to remember and document as much as I could. There was comfort and emotional sorting as I would write out what was going on. Several months in, I realized that a dread would start.  Just as soon as the pen hit the paper a knot would form in my gut and my emotions would feel like they were swirling out of control- it was no longer comforting but, instead, a reminder of the heartache and hardship my family and myself were trying to survive. 

I've been telling myself to blog, at least a bit, but have not been sure if it is the best thing emotionally.  I still don't know but thought I would sit down this afternoon and at least try. I can't go deep into the emotions but can swim on the surface for a short time.

I've been walking this new road for 14 months.  Most of it has been just trying to survive (literally) and the remaining has been trying to sort through how to move forward.  I don't have any big insight or life changing advise but I do have a few things that I've personally refined.

Priorities have been refined.  There is not a lot of emotional space (thank you chemo, exhaustion, meds, and overall trauma) so the space I have is weighed carefully and dispersed accordingly.  God, Matt, my kids/grandbabies, my extended family and close friends...a lot of times, I don't have enough to get past the first 3, which is humbling and hard, but my prayer is that in time, I will have more to give.  I used to give and give and give (and give) but just can't do that anymore.

Purposeful- Like I said above, I used to give and give and give, a lot of times not thinking through whether it was the best use of my time or energy. I would tell myself that this is what we do, give.  Now, I have to think through my time and decide whether what I'm doing is purposeful (sometimes purposeful means laying on my bed and watching a movie or shopping at Goodwill- this is being purposeful about rest and my mental health).  I have found, as I'm intentional about my purpose, I enjoy doing whatever I am doing, much more.

Protective- I feel a lot more protective over giving others dignity, including myself.  This has always been important to me, on the fringe, but the personal struggles though this diagnosis has brought this protectiveness more front and center.  I will have health struggles for the rest of my life (even when they are not apparent to anyone other then me).  My physical body will never be the same nor will the way I view the world psychologically.  This is deeply humbling and has kicked me off of any high horse I may have ever hoped to ride.  I will always relate to the weaker person (both physically and mentally) and pray I can articulate dignity to others well in this. I also pray I can emotionally protect, both with my words and actions, those who are weaker.

Promises- I repeat over and over to myself, ever single day, God's promises and then pray through them.  Life's hardships are a lot and I could not imagine walking this road without the Lord's constant presence and His promises.

I've also chosen to laugh more (even when I don't feel like it), not put off the things I've always wanted to do, eat much healthier (I don't even miss sugar anymore), and start smoking (no judging).

That's all I've got for today but hopefully I'll be back soon!

p.s. I didn't really start smoking- that's just not my jam....chemo jacks up your sense of smell and the aroma of smoke is pungent (if you smoke, I'm not judging you, so no messages of offense.  What I will say though is, you reek......smile). 

This picture is from last night- Matt and I were on our way out to dinner. It was really hot and I had been in a wig all day.  At the last minute, I took the wig off and had wild chemo curl hair and didn't have time to style it.  The front is long enough that I could put it back in top pig tails.....a 47 year old woman in top pigtails.......it's the humble train guys, THE HUMBLE TRAIN...but thank you Jesus for hair!

We met my 2 sister in laws (Heidy and Lori) and 2 brother in laws (John and Wayne) for dinner last night.

Vantage Point

I remember watching a movie several years ago that depicted the same story over and over only each time it was recounted, it was from a different person’s vantage point. Where they were when the event went on determined what they saw, what they experienced, their reactions, and ultimately, how the event impacted them. That's what todays blog post feels like- the same story about God's love and faithfulness, recounted through the vantage point of a different view then what I have ever had. I've experienced and seen God's tender love and faithfulness through a difficult childhood, through miscarriage, marriage struggles, anxiety attacks, friend and family struggles, adoption, one of my children's health struggles, the heaven going of my 14-year-old nephew...and more. This is the first time though, that I have experienced it through the vantage point of facing my own mortality. 

 

Most of you know that I was diagnosed with breast cancer in May of 2022. It was supposed to be an easy lumpectomy with a few lymph nodes in my left armpit area removed- I was prepared to probably need some chemotherapy and radiation but, the overall outcome was very favorable. No big alarm bells were ringing for the oncologists or doctors involved. 1 in 8 women will experience some sort of breast cancer in their lifetime and I was one of them- it's a well-studied cancer and the treatment is streamlined down to a science.

 

 Most of you also know that by the time all my pathology was complete, I needed a bilateral mastectomy, a complete lymph node dissection on my left side (25 lymph nodes removed) and was diagnosed with stage 3C aggressive breast cancer (T3 N3a M0). The alarm bells rang loud that July day, last year, and in some not-too-distant way, they will ring for the rest of my life. Due to the amount of cancer found, I was sent for all the scans (MRI, CT, bone, PET)- it was suspected that the cancer had already spread outside of my lymph nodes (in the left armpit area) but if it didn't (it was determined it had not), I was let know that all stops would be pulled and treatment to beat the cancer back would be hard and relentless. I was put into instant menopause (Lupron), had a bilateral mastectomy (chose no reconstruction), dose dense harsh chemo started 13 days after surgery (AC-T), followed by 6 weeks of 4 different fields on my left upper body/back radiated, and finally, a lifetime of difficult medication and monitoring. 

 

Even with all of this, I was let know that my recurrence rate (the chance that the cancer will at some point return) will always be a possibility. I will never be able to move on completely from my diagnosis. In one test result, my vantage point changed completely. I was faced with looking at the same God I have known since I was 8 years old, from a different perspective. Who is He and what does He look from such a life altering (and incredibly hard) view.

 

 I am only 9 months into this journey, what I have to offer from my vantage point is not much, but what I can offer is hope. I don't like talking about the degree of how extensive my cancer is/was because it's triggering- my mind has a hard time coming back to a non-trauma place after I talk (or write) about it. I only bring up its extent, so you have a better understanding of where I'm at when I share with you what I am learning. 

 

I have 'grief' days- days where the trauma of what has gone on and the reality of looking forward is a lot, on these days, my psyche forces me to live in that reality. On a grief day (I never know when they will be), I feel a grief and heaviness that is more than what my human mind can comprehend. At times, I can feel my thoughts starting a vacuum, remembering traumas from before and what-ifs for the future, in a downward spiral. It is so overwhelming when this happens. 

 

I was standing in my laundry room one day, several months ago, and was completely overwhelmed with grief. I felt so emotionally heavy I wasn't sure what to do next. When my thoughts tried to think about anything other than grief, my mind just felt blank (and I would return to thinking about the grief I was feeling). At this point, the only thing I could think to do was to cry out to God. As I was crying out to God, I started speaking out everything I knew to be true about Him, praising Him for who He is.... 

 

You are Almighty (Rev. 4:8) 

You are love (John 3:16) 

You are truth (John 14:6) 

You are our strength (Psalm 28:7) 

You will carry our burdens (Psalm 55:22) 

You are sovereign (Rom. 8:28) 

You know and have ordained every day for us (Psalm 139) 

You are rest (Matt. 11:28) 

The list could go on 

 

I noticed that as I was speaking these truths out, I picked my eyes up from the ground and looked heavenward- I was looking at the ceiling in my laundry room, crying out in desperation, God's truths. The more I redirected my thoughts to who God is, the more peace and strength I felt. It didn't change my reality (that will never change) but it did give me hope and redirection for my fearful and overwhelmed thoughts. It also gave me renewed hope that whatever our circumstances, God is enough, and He will see us through, no matter what. 

 

Since that day in my laundry room, I have had to do this same thing over and over (and will have to always).  Each time, I am always filled with a Peace that passes all understanding. Life is still so very hard...but God.

 

Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

Isaiah 41:10

 

the goodbye now and the someday still to come

Ellie’s birth mom, Heather, passed away on January 31.  Soon after hearing of Heather's passing, Ellie shared with Matt and I that it was important to her to have a place to physically remember Heather.  She wanted it to be a place she could always visit, if she wanted, and a place she could bring her own children to see someday.  She also wanted it to be a place that she and her brothers (if they chose) could leave cards and letters at, in the years to come.  

Matt and I initially thought we would do this in Oregon, someplace close to our home.  As we talked to Ellie more, she shared that she wanted to have that place be in Athens, Georgia, where Heather lived and where we visited her last year.  She also asked if she could go to Georgia and say goodbye to Heather, in her own way.  

Oh Ellie, yes...absolutely, yes.

A plaque with Heather's name on it will hang on the Mausoleum wall at Athens Memory Gardens- The plaque is in the process of being made even as I type this.  Directly behind the plaque, in the niche where normally ashes would go, will be the start of a keepsake collection, from Ellie to Heather....For the goodbye now, for the written things in the years to come. and for that someday (to show her own babies).  

Our scheduled flight out to Georgia was cancelled two days in a row (snow and an ice storm in Portland and Seattle) last week so we rescheduled for next month.  Matt, Ellie, and I will fly across the country, drive the 2 hours from Atlanta to Athens, and make our way to Athens Memory Gardens for a heartfelt and sad goodbye.

We love you Heather.